


Like the Ocean

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, M/M, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 09:23:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon talks to Naomi.  Naomi's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like the Ocean

## Like the Ocean

by Daydreamer

Author's website:  <http://www.geocities.com/daydreamersden>

This is -- oh, my God! I can't believe it! -- number 27 in the Leaving series. The other stories can be found on the archive, or, in order, on my website.

These stories deal with Blair's abuse as a child.

This story is a sequel to: The Second Mission 

* * *

I really dislike hotels. The mattresses are never firm enough, the pillows are always too flat, and despite all the sage in the world, you can never completely erase all the negative auras that just seem to _cling_ to the place. 

I had, of course, spent far too much time doing just that -- trying to cleanse this place. Not only for myself, but also for all the others who would come behind me. I know -- that's too kind of me, but that's just the kind of person that I am. I _always_ put others first; I don't understand why my son's new boyfriend refuses to see that. 

It makes me want to sigh. I've finished packing and I've already taken care of my ticket arrangements -- I'm leaving on the 11:27 flight to Juneau -- when there's a knock at the door. I almost don't answer, but then, I remember what Jim said last night. It makes me swallow hard, but it also makes me move to the door. I _hate_ being manipulated like this. It' so _unfair._ And no matter what he says, I'm going to be on that plane this morning. There's nothing _I_ can do for Blair -- not if he continues to dwell in the past and refuses to move on, get over it, live for the moment. 

I open the door and look up -- and up. Simon is standing there. This time, I do sigh. "Of course," I say, "I should have known. Jim sent you." I step back and let him in, studying him under downcast eyes. I really don't understand how my son manages to surround himself with such good-looking men. It's unfair, too. I swear, it's _always_ been this way -- Blair _always_ managed to attract attention. I tried and tried to teach him not show off so much. I tried to make him see that it would just annoy people. I mean, I think of how irritated some of my friends would get with him -- you'd have thought that after Don and some of the others, he would have gotten the message. Not that I _wanted_ my baby to be hurt -- oh, no. But he needed to learn somehow that the world did not revolve around him. 

Simon's voice intrudes on my reverie and I look up for a moment. 

"Jim _called_ me," he says, as if there was a difference between his words and mine. Jim may have called, but I'm quite sure that _call_ involved instructions to track me down and talk to me. "He told me some of what had happened." 

It infuriates me! How dare _Jim_ talk to this man -- this _stranger_ \-- about the personal things that had occurred last night. "He had no right to talk to you about that!" 

Simon shrugs. "I'm his friend. Jim knows he can talk to me when he's troubled." He looks around a moment, then moves through the room in just a few large steps. I can tell he's noticed the sage in the air; he rubs his nose as he sits at one of the chairs by the table. He looks up at me and says, "I'm Blair's friend, too." 

He still doesn't understand. It all comes back to _Jim._ Somehow, Jim has stirred up all this old garbage in my son, dragged it all out into the light of day. And now he wants to blame _me._ And he's making Blair blame me as well! I shake my head in frustration. "But you're here because Jim wants me to come back." 

A frown flits across Simon's face, then he shrugs again. "I'm not sure what Jim wants. I'm here because Jim and I agree that _Blair_ needs you to come back." 

This whole situation is depressing me. I turn away from him for a moment and work on breathing. I really need to settle myself. I eye the door for a moment and can feel the tension radiate through my body. I could make the door -- I could get out of here. But then I think about how humiliating it would be to have Simon grab me and drag me back in here. The _unfairness_ of this whole situation just screams at me. I check my watch surreptitiously; I only have an hour or so before I have to be at the airport. I take another deep breath; I can get through this. Simon can't talk forever. I can say what he wants, do what he wants and then I am getting on that plane and I am out of here. Blair will get over this -- he always does. By the time I'm ready to see him again, he'll be fine. He knows that these little displays of his just drive me away. I've never been able to deal with his drama. He'll remember that and he'll miss me. By the time I'm ready to come back, he'll be ready to behave appropriately. 

I glance back over my shoulder to see Simon waiting patiently -- more patiently than I would have expected. "I don't know what you want from me," I tell him. "I can't change what happened." 

His eyes harden and I am again amazed at the protectiveness my son seems to have garnered from these men in his life. "Blair needs you now. Whatever happened in the past, whatever happened before -- he needs you now." 

It's all I can do to keep from rolling my eyes. Blair _needs_ me. Blair has always needed me. From the time he was a baby, he was needy. Crying and clinging to me; demanding his way all the time. I would get so tired of it. I was glad to be with Don, if for no other reason than that aunt of his always seemed too happy to keep him. What _I_ needed never seemed important to anyone when Blair was around, but once I could take him to her, then I could see about some of my own needs -- needs that were _important_ and that I'd had to neglect because of him. "He's always been needy," I say to Simon. "Don't you find him needy?" 

"No, I don't find him needy at all," Simon replies in a firm voice. "Actually, he's exceptionally strong. Considering what he's been through, I find him one of the strongest men I've ever met." 

I turn away from him so he won't see the disgust on my face. It's _always_ about _Blair!_ "'Considering what he's been through...'" I throw his words back at him then whirl around to face him. I can't stop myself; I have to ask. "Does anyone ever consider what _I've_ been through?" 

Simon flows up from the chair -- damn! that man can move gracefully! -- and moves across the room until he stands over me. My first instinct is to step back, but I force myself to hold my ground. I am _tired_ of giving in over Blair! 

"No, Naomi," he says in this cold, unfeeling voice. "Nobody around here is really thinking about what _you_ went through." 

As if he has to tell me that. I think I've already picked up on the fact that _no one_ is concerned about _me_ in this little mess my son has created. 

"What _exactly_ was it that happened to you, again?" he asks in this overly snotty tone. "Did you have a mother who used to _forget_ you when you were a child?" 

I never _forgot_ him! Never! Is it _my_ fault he was always wondering off and could never be found when it was time to go? 

"Did you get dragged all over kingdom come and back again, always the unwanted tagalong?" 

I never _dragged him all over kingdom come!_ Every place I took him had educational value. He saw more of the world before he was fifteen than most people see in a lifetime! I filled his life with enrichment opportunities! _Why_ can't anyone _see_ that? 

"Were you the one who was beaten and abused until scars were left on your defenseless body?" 

I am not listening. I am not listening. I refuse to hear these vile accusations. I would _never_ have let anyone hurt my child. Never! 

"Did someone... Did someone _lose_ you -- leaving you to bounce from place to place to place, each one worse than the one before?" 

I close my eyes. I don't want to hear what's coming. I _won't_ hear what's coming. This man has no right to intrude upon my life and force these words upon me. I will not listen to this! 

"Did... did someone rape _you_ when you were a child, Naomi? Is that what happened? Is _that_ why you're so damned insensitive to your son?" 

I inch backwards, making space where there's really none to be made and Simon takes the hint. He steps back, then goes back to the table by the window and sits again. His jaw is tight; his shoulders even tighter. He stares unseeing out the window and I am suffused with rage. This whole thing is being blown way out of proportion -- all thanks to my son, the dramatist. Rape. It's such an ugly word. And I don't believe -- I _can't_ believe -- _that_ happened to Blair. I just can't. 

"Don't you think _rape_ is a rather strong word for what happened?" I ask Simon, still surprised by the vehemence of his words. 

He looks at me like I am a bug under a microscope. "No, Naomi, I don't," he says. "There is nothing trivial about rape. And acknowledging what happened to Blair, doesn't, in any way, take away from what those millions of women have suffered." 

I want to scream 'STOP!' I can't hear this! I know Blair's life wasn't all fun and roses. I know bad things happened. Bad things happened to me, too. But I don't dwell on them. I don't want to hear this -- I _can't_ hear this! But Simon plods inexorably on. 

"But when a grown man forcibly inserts his penis into the anus of a child -- that's rape. Oh, the courts may call it sodomy, but the reality is -- it's rape." 

NO! My mind threatens to shut down. I didn't want to hear this. I had forced myself not to hear it at the loft. I had forced myself not to think about it for all those years. I never knew -- I never knew for sure! I didn't want to know for sure. Why won't anyone listen to me when I tell them that you can't change the past? What good does bringing this up now do? It upsets me; it upset Blair. God knows, it upset _Jim._ And no one will ever believe me when I tell them that I never really knew. Still, I force the words across my lips. "He never told me." 

"Maybe he was scared to," Simon jumps back at me. "Maybe he was afraid that if he caused too many problems, you'd just take off and leave him again and the next place would be even worse." 

I don't know what to say. Every word Simon speaks, every angle of his body, every look on his face -- they all accuse _me,_ as if I could have done something about it. By the time I knew -- _suspected_ \-- it was over and done with. I couldn't go back and undo it. And besides, with Blair, you could never be sure just what was real and what was his imagination. I glance over my shoulder at Simon, meeting his eyes briefly. "I never knew what to believe with Blair. He told -- stories." 

Simon shakes his head ruefully. "I'm sure he did. He's pretty handy with bending the truth now when he feels the need, but when it comes to the important stuff -- he's ruthlessly honest." 

I realize then -- this man loves my son as well. Oh, maybe not the way Jim does, but there's a definite love vibe going on, along with a need to protect and care for. I don't know how Blair does it. He attracts people from the most diverse walks of life and they all seem to fall in love with him. It just isn't fair. 

Simon's loud sigh breaks my train of thought. "You had to know what was going on," he says. 

My knees are suddenly weak and I step to the bed and sit down. "I didn't -- I really didn't," I say, shaking my head to emphasize my words. "I mean, I knew Don was hard on him, but I didn't realize how hard until Don hit me." My eyes are wide as I stare at him, willing him to believe me. 

He closes his eyes, as if in pain, then says, "Naomi, that's the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard in my life. How could you have missed the marks on your own child's body? Didn't you ever give him a bath?" 

This whole conversation is wearing me out, wearing me down. I check my watch again and realize I have got to get this man out of here. His words are painful; they bring up memories I would rather not think about. I love my son -- I do -- and it hurts me that anyone would think otherwise. "I wasn't always there -- I couldn't know everything that was going on. I always tried to leave him with people I thought I could trust." 

And I did. Everyone I ever left Blair with was someone I knew, someone I felt a special connection to. I never _wanted_ him to be hurt. 

His voice is mocking as he says, "And what exactly was it that you had to do that required you to leave your child so many times and for so long?" 

"I was working for important things," I tell him fiercely. "Equal rights, the environment, justice for the oppressed." He should be able to appreciate that. But then again, I've probably walked in more marches, joined more protests for equal opportunity in a year than he has in his entire life. He's one to just sit back and enjoy the fruits of others' labors. 

When he speaks again, I flinch from the anger in his voice. 

"And did your _work_ do any good? Or was it all just an excuse to let you flit about the country without Blair and still feel like you were doing something worthwhile?" 

I sputter, desperate to say something in my own defense, but he blazes on, cutting me off. 

"Let's see, last time I looked, the Equal Rights Amendment never passed and while things are better for women and minorities, the work is still ongoing. The environment is still polluted -- the EPA won't be going anywhere for years. And justice for the oppressed, Naomi?" He made a noise of disgust. "Didn't anyone ever tell you charity should begin at home? Maybe you should have been more concerned about justice for your child -- maybe you should have been worried about how oppressed _he_ was!" 

How _dare_ he! "You have no idea how hard things were for me!" 

He has no idea what I went through. I was so young when I had Blair; a child raising a child. And yes, I had baggage of my own. I had an uncle that used to come into my room at night. But I don't dwell on it -- I refuse to think about it, refuse to let it ruin my life. I swore I would protect Blair from that; I'd never tell him what happened, who his father was. And I did. I protected him. I took care of him and I did the best I could. I don't know why everyone wants to blame me because his life wasn't perfect. _Nobody's_ life is perfect, I'm walking proof of that, and yet, look how much good _I've_ done, despite everything! 

"That's no excuse, Naomi!" Simon's voice cuts across my consciousness like a razor. "I raised a child, my own son and yes, I was married for most of that time, so, yes, there were two of us. But that doesn't change the fact that the foremost thought in my mind for all those years -- hell, the foremost thought in my mind _now,_ is 'how do I do the right thing for my son?' That thought colored every decision I ever made. I was _always_ aware that everything I did or said was going to have lasting consequences on how another human being turned out." 

There's no point in even trying to explain. He's already made his mind up that I am the one at fault here, I'm the bad guy. Still, I can't stop myself from protesting. "Everyone always takes his side," I say, exhausted by the strain of this conversation. "I get so tired of everyone always taking his side." 

"Maybe that's because his side is the right side. Did you ever consider that?" 

I'm through with all of this. I shake my head, and decide to level with him. "I have to go," I say. "I'm going to Alaska." 

I'm not going to stay here and be abused like this. I've had my share of abuse -- and look where it got me. I'm not going to take anymore. One thing I learned, and it was a hard lesson and it took a long time to learn it, but I finally did. You don't have to stick around and let someone abuse you. You can change your circumstances. I always told Blair that. When he'd complain about bigger boys picking on him, or -- other things. I would tell him, "Blair, you have the power within yourself to change your situation. All you have to do it act." How can anyone accuse me of not doing right by my child? I shake my head and remind myself none of this matters anymore now; in less than an hour, I will be on my way to Alaska. 

"Naomi," Simon says, interrupting my thoughts yet again. "I have something to tell you. It's going to be a new concept for you, but I want you to work at accepting it. This. Is. Not. About. You. For all I know, you may have been abused yourself; you may be struggling with your own baggage and have issues that have affected every aspect of your life. But you know what? I just don't care. I'm tired and I don't have the time or energy to deal with you. I wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for Blair." 

He is so heartless, so cruel. My eyes fill and I swipe at them angrily. I will not cry over what happened to me all those years ago. I _will_ not. "What do you want, then?" I ask him, furious at myself when my voice breaks. 

"I want to know if you can tell Blair what he needs to hear. Can you put him first for once in your life? Can you convince him that he's the important one for just this moment?" 

I think he has enough people convincing him that he's important. I can't imagine that he needs to hear that from me. Still... "I suppose I should be happy that he has people who care so strongly for him." 

The look on Simon's face has varied from anger, to disbelief, to outright disgust throughout our entire conversation. And yet now, it is studiously neutral and I know he wants something from me. 

"Blair needs to hear you say that you didn't know what was going on. That you weren't aware that he was being beaten and abused and -- raped." 

He uses that word again -- as if a man could know anything about -- it. 

"He needs to hear it from you," Simon says. 

I want him out of here. I want him gone. I want to be alone. I don't want to have to think about this. But Simon is relentless. He's not going to let me go. And if I do what he wants, all it's going to do is cause me more pain. "He's going to blame me," I whisper. 

"Not Blair," Simon replies, shaking his head. "I may blame you..." 

No surprise there. 

"...and _Jim_ certainly blames you..." 

_Really_ no surprise there. 

"...but Blair is the most forgiving, most understanding person in the world." 

He's right about that. I force myself to accept the fact. My son really does have a loving and forgiving heart. I may not have given him much, but I did manage to give him that. "I don't know if I can face him." 

"He loves you, Naomi. Hasn't that gotten through to you yet? Why do you think he never pushed you to face all this before? Why do you think he tried so hard to deal with it all on his own? He doesn't want to hurt you. He worries about _you._ " Simon voice has suddenly gone gentle and I think I may cry again. He stands before me, but he's not angry, and when he reaches for me, taking my shoulders in his huge hands, his touch is gentle. "Why can't you worry about him -- just this once?" 

I shiver, my body shaking as I struggle not to give in to the tears. I wait a minute until I am sure I am in control, then I look up and ask the question that has been haunting me. "Is Jim going to be there?" I can't -- _won't_ admit it out loud, but he scared me. 

"I'm sure he will be." 

"He's -- angry -- with me," I tell Simon, hoping just this once, he'll hear what I'm saying. I can't meet his eye anymore. 

"He won't hurt you," he says, removing his hands from my shoulders and stepping back. 

I sneak a peek at him again and there is no concern for me in his face. This is all about Blair. I thought for a moment, for a fleeting moment, that someone might have actually had some sympathy for me. Instead, all he wants is to do whatever it takes, say whatever it takes, to get me to come with him and _be there_ for Blair. Well, two can play that game. I take a moment to compose myself, then I look up. "I can do this. Of course, I can. I want my baby to know that I'm here for him. I can help him through this." 

"Good." he says shortly. 

Good. He gets what he wants and all he can say is good. I just want to be done with this charade. "When?" I ask. 

"I'll call Jim and get back to you. Probably this afternoon." 

Good -- this afternoon. By this afternoon, I'll be somewhere over western Canada. 

His eyes narrow as he looks at me. "You will be here, won't you?" 

"Of course I will," I lie blithely. 

He nods and starts to go. It occurs to me that he may not believe me, so I search my mind for something I can say, something I can do that will convince him of my sincerity. 

"Simon?" 

"Yeah?" 

"You have to understand something." 

He turns and faces me. 

"I can do this," I assure him. "I'm like the ocean -- very soothing, very calming. A gentle, ever-present warmth. I won't let you down." 

There. I smile, pleased with myself. That was good. The ocean is always a _wonderful_ metaphor. 

"Just don't let _Blair_ down," he growls as he steps through the door. "I'll be back to get you in a few hours." 

His last words are thrown over his shoulder and I sigh in relief as the door closes. I am _so_ outta here. I check my bags, check the room one more time, check my watch and then sit down to wait for the taxi I had already ordered. 

I have important things to do -- in Alaska. 

* * *

End Like the Ocean by Daydreamer: daydream59@aol.com

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